#3 birds one stone

[goodmorningglory]

where's the "can someone please be proud ofe, like fuck i'm trying my best" post when you need it

[david-talks-sw]

More George Lucas debunking misconceptions about the Prequel Jedi:

"Anakin killed the Jedi in retaliation. They failed him, betrayed him and didn't allow him to have a relationship, so he killed them all."

"[In Revenge of the Sith] The controversy is going to be that people expect some horrible, horrific thing to happen to [Anakin] that caused him to [become Darth Vader]. It's much subtler. It's something that everybody faces— when you're looking at yourself, you can see your good and your bad, and say, "Is this a selfish choice or is this a compassionate choice? And once I get something, what would I do to keep from losing it? Would I make a pact with the devil to keep it?" - Entertainment Weekly #785, 2004

"… some of the people had a hard time with the reason that Anakin goes bad. [...] They wanted a real betrayal, such as, "You tried to kill me so now I'm going to try and kill you." They didn't seem to understand the fact that Anakin is simply greedy. There is no revenge." - The Making of Revenge of The Sith, page 188

"The rest of the Jedi have dogmatically forgotten how to love out of fear of having attachments, Qui-Gon is the only one who knows that you can love people selflessly, without getting possessive."

"The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that he can't hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn't willing to accept emotionally and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he'd have been taken in his first year and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn't have this particular connection as strong as it is and he'd have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them. But he has become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padmé and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation." - Attack of the Clones, Director’s Commentary, 2002

"Obviously, it’s a progression. But in [Attack of the Clones], you begin to see that he has a fear of losing things, fear of losing his mother. And as a result, he wants to begin to control things, he wants to become more powerful. And these are not Jedi traits. And part of this is because he started to be trained so late in life, that he had already formed these attachments. And for a Jedi, attachment is forbidden. You can love people, but you have to love them unconditionally, in terms that you can’t hold on to them." - CNN, ��Countdown to the Clones”, 2002

"The Jedi are trained to let go. They're trained from birth. They’re not supposed to form attachments. They can love people - in fact, they should love everybody. They should love their enemies; they should love the Sith. But they can't form attachments. So what all these movies are about is: greed. Greed is a source of pain and suffering for everybody. And the ultimate state of greed is the desire to cheat death." - The Making of Revenge of The Sith, page 213

"Ultimately for a Jedi Knight, it’s very easy to give up. One of the things they give up is marriage. They can still love people. But they can’t possess them. They can’t own them. They can’t demand that they do things. They have to be able to accept the fact, one, their mortality, that they are going to die. And not worry about it. That the loved ones they have, everything they love is going to die and they can’t do anything about it." - Celebration V, Main Event, 2010

"The Jedi in The High Republic are the Jedi in their prime/heyday. By the time of the Prequels, they've become political and dispassionate/prohibitive."

"[In Phantom Menace] you see the heyday of the Jedi, when they are the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy, sort of like the old marshals out West. And there's thousands of them." - Vanity Fair, 1999

"We've actually never seen real Jedi at work, we've only seen crippled half-droid half-men, and young boys that had learned from these old people. So to see a Jedi in his prime fighting in the prime of the Jedi, I want it to be a much more energetic and faster version of what we've been doing." - The Phantom Menace, “Fights”, 2001

"Jedi Knights aren't celibate - the thing that is forbidden is attachments - and possessive relationships." - BBC News, 2002

"[When Obi-Wan talks to Anakin about politicians, we learn about] the Jedi’s disenchantment with the political process, due to the corruption and the ineffectiveness of the Senate." - Attack of the Clones, Director’s Commentary, 2002

"The Jedi aren't really allowed to be involved in the political process. They're [present in the Senate when Palpatine is given emergency powers], but they can't suddenly step up and say, "No, no. You can't do that." They have to let the political process go." - Attack of the Clones, Commentary Track #2, 2002

[protagonists-catastrophe]

"Rexerrr?~ I got you a present, my lord~"

>[Bartholomew has returned, currently wearing a disguise. Having taken the form of the very same man laying on the floor, having dropped out of the portal above. @wordsofthespirits ]

>[Of course, per usual, his face looks different, the inhumanly wide smile, the many eyes, that off behavior of his.]

>[ @deadworld-fakeprotagonist]

[Not counted as an event ask bc this is going to be a loooong ass thread between 3 folks (maybe). It was sent before yall did Rexer/Robin dirty. Sorry boys ; ×; ]

Rexer's head practically snapped to look over at the voice. Seeing such a familiar face, it alarmed the time keeper at first, but seeing the second body upon the floor, the [-PROTAGONIST-] was quick to clear up the assumption he made mentally.

> "If you call me that again, I won't hesitate to kill you. Do not call me that."

Seems like someone is still touchy about the name, but he can't stop anyone from. Calling him such things, he sadly does not have that power as much as he wished he could.

Looking at the man on the floor, Rexer narrowed his eyes. When he asked for information, he didn't mean bringing it physically here to his abode. That was going to be a problem if they noticed each other.

> "He can't stay here. We already have a guest here."

He makes the notion to Robin, who still lays unconscious from his prior experiences. It looks like he was in the middle of preparing what to do with the other until Bartholomew dropped in.

He didn't even thank or praise Bartholomew for his generous gift.

[fadeintoyou1993]

♡ HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NATALIA DYER! ♡

make me choose: alycia debnam-carey or natalia dyer? asked by @alyciajasmin

[ms0milk]

𝟏 | 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The prince meets you with a ferocity that probably stops people’s hearts and with his mother’s halo of silvery hair and decisive eyes, it’s lovely enough to stop yours too."

no cw big time fairytale castle, blunt bkg & silly co. reader's a lil stiff bc character arcs aren't built in a day, let the slowburn begin. i am not immune to aizawa in any universe. author does not attempt to hide how very badly she wants to ******* *** **** bkg's mama. 3.8k

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Waking up is so peaceful this morning. Gentle and warm.

"..…"

That sweet kind of rise between waking and dreaming, where you’re able to say goodbye to your dreams and the people in them with a tip of your hat and wave goodbye. Forgiving and patient.

“..Y/n…”

The queen was in your dreams tonight. And you were in your hometown– you’re there now. The fields are golden and heavy before autumn harvest and your neighbors have no need for locks on their doors. She is beautiful today, and she is your sister, your mother, your Lady when you try to look past the sun’s rays to her face. Up, up, up into her eyes, why can’t you find what you’re looking for? Higher and higher until it’s the stars you’re on your knees for.

“Y/n.”

You jolt at the sudden sensation of falling with a quick and panicked grip on your pillow but you’re back in your room, stuffed mattress and all. Every part of your body is grounded to woolen blankets and the weight at your feet. Someone laughs at the foot of your bed when you sigh in relief and you jump again, because this time it’s the queen.

“I’m sorry to wake you.” She smiles behind her hand. You’re staring. And then it’s been a second too long before you gather yourself like a member of the castle with some respect and make a move to stand for formal greetings. But you only get as far as sitting up when she stiffs her palm to your forehead. “Stay.”

From your spot still tucked in bed you muster a, “Yes, your Majesty.”

The queen’s hair is wild and silvery by the light of a candle she holds at her chest. The only light in the room. Heavy fur cape clasps fit neatly into the bodice of her nightgown– gown almost isn't the right word. You love her. There isn’t a citizen alive that doesn’t love her, “I have a question for you, Y/n.”

“Anything, Majesty.”

What time is it? Your curtain is drawn, but still there doesn’t seem to be any morning light trying to peek through.

“My son’s been invited east to celebrate a new observatory.” The queen pulls a once-neatly-wrapped envelope from her pocket, “The end of some momentous constructional undertaking or another,” she laughs. She extends her hand to you and smiles at just how dumbstruck you still seem to be by candlelight, “I’m sorry it’s so early.”

“Not at all.” You move too quickly and too slowly somehow– you curse yourself– while taking it from her, and regret what a silly child you must look like the way she has you perched against your pillows.

“I just received word from a Takoban messenger. A letter from their queen.” You nod, turn the letter over in your hands until it falls open. “He’s leaving today and I would very much like you to accompany him.”

Your apartments on Castle Southside are suddenly less like one modest room and more like the very stables you live above, wholly unfit for her. She’s still smiling at you. You’re still tucked-in. “Majesty, me?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not. But wouldn’t– shouldn’t Master Jeanist go?”

“Jeanist stays with me.” And you realize in horror– too many emotions for one woman to manifest only minutes after waking up– that you implied the queen may have made a mistake. “Don’t apologize,” she catches you before you can open your sleep-addled mouth again, “Captain of the Guard stays here. But you’ve trained with Jeanist for years Y/n, you’ll be my son’s captain soon.” She scoots closer to you. She takes your hand, “Can I trust you with this mission?”

It's fuzzy, hearth warmth and happiness when she uses your name, “With anything.”

Queen Mitsuki handed over one more letter before leaving you to prepare for your morning. Just a thank you card, she’d said. For you to deliver to the eastern queen, the Queen of Takoba.

As long as she asks you might do anything, although spending the most time with Jeanist meant nothing by way of his successor. The next monarch will choose his own captain. Spending the most time with Jeanist only means that you haven't given great priority to making your own friends.

The click of your heels down the stone hallway line up with another’s as you round the corner to your station. A tree today. Trees and wildlife grow freely in the Bakugous’ Aldera Castle and make the palace warm even in the grip of winter. Knobbly trunks and grasping vines twist in and out of windows, fruit rolls down the halls in fall. Squirrels and birds get in so regularly that members of the guard each have one shift a week exclusively for hoisting the creatures back out.

Fresh air is never far away. In the springtime you are all tasked with sweeping blossoms off the castle floors before they wither or trip a staff, and from the very second the first magnolia blooms in March you’re swimming in flowers til June.

Jeanist stands under the lichen of Castle Southside’s oak tree when you arrive, and the soldier he was speaking to has already strode away. Tall, black hair.

The oak tree is four stories tall to have arms reaching this far inside and is older than any historian could recall. It is precious family. It reaches up and over the banister at the edge of the hallway and dips down into the library like a leafy chandelier, causing much headache in autumn when Aldera's tallest ladder is procured for the poor novice whose job it is to clean the books underneath.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

“Sir.”

Jeanist only smiles under the high collar of his red uniform. You rarely get the chance to stand beside your mentor anymore, now that the prince needs only a senior guard on diplomatic errands. Your uniforms were meant to stand together just like this– warm next to each other. Yours are the only two of their kind and your mentor made these himself, blood red gambeson and white bone clasps. You assume your position beside the tree and stare dead ahead, happy, if only for a second, if only on the inside, to belong once again to this group of two.

“Y/n?”

“Sir.” You don’t break eye contact with the far wall. Dawn is dim on the fifth floor of Southside. All you have here to entertain yourself is a tapestry you’ve memorized every stitch of, until another soldier comes to relieve you.

“Did you speak with the Queen?”

“Yes, sir. Early this morning.”

“Earlier than dawn?” Jeanist chuckles and turns to gaze out the window through the ancient knots of the oak tree. The sun crests the mountains somewhere farther than you’ve ever traveled and spills into the folds of his uniform. It warms the back of your head. “What did you tell her?”

“That I would be honored to comply with Her Majesty's request.”

“And how do you feel?”

“Privileged, sir.”

“Y/n." Your eyes tug at your periphery, confused by the general chattiness of the old guard this morning, “I’m proud of you.”

Your head turns fully at this, in surprise and without your permission, and you realize it hasn’t yet struck you to ask why he’s at your post in the first place.

“Go on.” He’s looking at you too now, as he has been the whole time, “They’ll leave without you at this rate.”

You stare for another two seconds at this strange mentor of yours. You try to keep your heart from spilling onto the floor is actually what you do; it’s all you can manage. “Yes, sir.”

If anything you’ll be the first of the entire party to arrive in the Great Hall, but you still let Jeanist assume your position and even turn in surprise again when he rests a hand on your shoulder. He taps one of your small earrings with a gentle finger and with his other hand unclasps the dragontooth brooch from his breast.

“How long did you stare when the queen spoke with you this morning?”

Ears go hot immediately under his knowing gaze, but he only smiles. He pulls your hand forward and rests the dragontooth in your palm with an amount of pressure that can only mean, be careful. And so you will, you determine, and turn to make your way to collect your things.

“Word of advice!” In a neverending morning of spinning, you drag your foot and face him again. Jeanist is nearly laughing and trying very well to hide his worry, “If you stare at the prince the way you have the tendency to do, he might just take your head off.”

He doesn’t get to see you smile often, but it does feel fitting now for you to nod your goodbye to him with the look of yours he loves so much, “He might try, sir."

It didn’t take more than a few months in the castle, at six years old, for the prince to rectify his opinion of you. To clarify his disdain in the event that his mother’s favoritism towards the orphan gave anyone the wrong idea about his own priorities. You could hardly say it mattered. Hundreds of new faces fill the castle every year and he had forgotten yours just as quickly as you had been whisked into Jeanist’s care to begin your training and earn your keep.

Today your satchel is packed, your hair’s braided back, and the prince thinks no more or less of you than he always has. Indifference will make your job easy.

The whole sprawling maze of stone buildings warm in the morning sun as you make your way to Castle Northside, although autumn is here and soon heavy curtains will need to be draped over windows and trees. Soon too, it’ll be time to sweep fallen leaves out of the hallway and collect ripe peaches from the branches of the western stairwell. You’ll need to have your winter uniform cleaned when you return so the white fur of the collar glows, because when the queen happens to see you on duty she always remarks on how well you care for her colors.

Even your earrings– tiny suns, gold and dangling– represent your love for Aldera down to the smallest detail. They were a gift, and you swell when her eyes jump from one carefully polished detail on your body to the next. To Jeanist, she is personification of meticulous craft. You know that’s why he loves her. Each hulking winter cape in her collection drops her into the background of some priceless painting or ethereal scene and for this reason alone, winter is your favorite season.

Sometimes in cold weather, when she sneaks to the kitchen in the middle of the night, Her Majesty wears battle gauntlets to stay warm and is altogether too Alderan in delicate furs and armored gloves.

It is just at this moment of routine admiration that, out of an auxiliary hallway to the kitchen, saunters a tall boy you’ve never seen before wearing the white soldier’s greaves. He's hardly dressed, greaves aside, all loose undershirt and lazy stride. He knows your name and he calls to you as he approaches.

“Yes soldier?”

His limbs are knobbly and his mouth hitches uncomfortably upwards when he finally gets close enough to you to speak, “Hanta ma'am, Sero Hanta.” Tall and disrespectful. “Master Jeanist sent me to fetch your halberd from the smithy but when I came back–”

“I don’t keep my halberd in the smithy.”

He shifts his weight between two legs too long for his greaves like he has somewhere else to be, “Whoever’s it is, Kirishima has it now and we’ve all been searching Southside like madmen trying to fin–”

“Who–” You shake your head and turn to face him fully now, “Why does the master–”

“Sero! Oh my everloving gods you found her!” Another boy, quite blond, scrambles out of a different hallway– oh, he’s tripping on the decorative runner– out of breath to the soldier’s side. “Kirishima–”

“You found her!” One last voice shrills over the banister of the hallway above. This one belongs to a lithe pink girl and she hops the last five stairs to land at your side, “Don’t you look nice today Miss Guard.”

“Excuse me?”

She addresses her companions instead, “Where’s Kirishima?”

You have half a mind to take the closest person by the arm and hold them for questioning. How have they gotten so far into the center of the castle unaccompanied? To whom do they belong? “Identify yourselves.”

“No time for that,” Soldier Sero snaps and links a hand under each of his companions’ arms, “We’ll parse out introductions once we’re not all about to be hanged.” Without direction or permission, the three of them are down the last stretch of hall quicker than north wind through bare branches and great iron doors scream open.

You’ve walked the Hall ten thousand times and so the gold trim, the fireplace and both it's stories, the sappy scent of pine, and the rows of tables long enough to seat whole families of dragons, only bring tears to your eyes on occasion. The floor is cobbled with river stones that catch fruit and nuts in their grooves but glow a molten-glass purple when the sun comes in through windows. It gets warm, too warm, when it’s full of staff at mealtimes so you take your dinners elsewhere. It’s too stuffy. You’ve never managed large crowds in tight spaces so times like these are precious, when it’s empty before breakfast and still clean from the night's housekeeping.

Except it’s not empty now, is it? There are three fools and two brand new strangers loitering in front of the fireplace at the other end of the room, just waiting for you to call for reinforcements. Sero begins to take off his pants–

“Soldier!” You shout down the Hall almost as quickly as you cross it.

“Good morning,” an altogether new voice pools between your exclamations.

Of the five people in the empty room, two of them obviously belong someplace very far away. Somewhere unkind. Blue tunics and windswept hair. You slow your warpath and try to take in the details of the two new men that Aldera's three fugitives have approached without an ounce of concern or respect for personal space.

The younger of the pair repels hair ruffles and claps on the shoulder from your three trespassers while the taller man, worn and travel-sallow, peers over the bustle to you.

His eye contact doesn't match the way he holds his exhausted body. It is this one part of him that threatens, surely only in your own tired mind, sudden and practiced violence. You move closer.

“I am Master Aizawa."

When he blinks the threat vanishes and you buckle a bit in the whiplash from danger to gentle authority. You are unarmed for a second– suddenly a schoolgirl again, pitied by her teacher in a classroom full of people who haven't learned to talk to child soldiers.

"Your party will be under my protection and instruction beginning today.” Disarming eye contact aside, Master Aizawa, this fourth stranger of the morning, looks as if he could barely be trusted to remain upright on a sunny day, let alone manage other people. “This young man is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he tips his chin to the boy trying to stand tall beside him, still speaking only to you over the chittering crowd, “my apprentice and your second in command.”

Windswept, violent, exhausted, trespassers, guests, useful, useless– these people do not matter. You are meant to be waiting for the prince and his convoy not chasing strangers in circles around the castle, when a much worse thought comes clear to center focus. In your rush this morning it hadn’t occurred to you that this group of people might share your objective. The iron doors grunt open again in your confusion but louder than the doors are the people walking through them.

“Oh amazing, you found her!”

“I could hear you horrible fucks all the way from the courtyard.”

Your blood doesn’t rush properly for a second most likely because your heart has stopped pumping it out. The prince. You square your body to the back wall immediately and bow with fists at your side, trying to bury the incorrigible urge to stare.

Even from half a Hall away it is palpable, the tremendous confidence that swells to every corner of a room when he enters. He wears an Alderan vest lined with furs and you know the clasps at his neck are gold because the queen wouldn’t settle for less. The red cape they grip sweeps in an arc as he navigates tables, and walking duly tall beside him is the prince's champion, Kirishima, who holds a polearm in one hand while waving to the group with the other.

The two familiar faces put you at a strange kind of ease. Kirishima is a joyful addition to the castle, always smiles for staff in passing, and the prince– the prince is taller now. It’s been years since you’ve stood near him properly. Castle staff are meant to bow their heads when a royal approaches. You’re fairly familiar with the details of his boots but not much else.

“Good morning, Highness,” Master Aizawa is the first to reply and his voice simmers just above a growl. You raise your head so that you’re standing tall when the prince finishes his march to the group but you’re too practiced in looking away to keep your eyes up for long.

“Long time no see old man.”

“Ready?”

“Let’s get this over with.” The prince doesn’t offer you a glance, not even a blink, before he’s tossing a rucksack from the man’s outstretched arm over his shoulder.

Soldier Sero calls after him, “You clean up nice,” and lifts his arm to give the prince a playful swat, but you’re already holding his wrist behind his back and he’s standing on tall tippy toes to keep the pressure in his knobby elbow from breaking it. The prince squares himself to the yelping and now he’s looking at you.

“S-sorry Y/n! Friendly fire.”

You drop Sero’s arm and try to speak– it's your only chance for appropriate introduction– but the prince meets you with a ferocity that probably stops people’s hearts and with his mother’s halo of silvery hair and decisive eyes, it’s lovely enough to stop yours too. His coalfire gaze is quick and flickering. Like he hopes to avoid looking at you altogether. You try to speak even less successfully than the last time, to wet your lips, try to make a sound, but he’s already rolling his eyes and ushering the two blue guards towards the door.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter. The rest of you, hurry up.”

They do. The prince, two escorts, and three guests are back out the iron doors without so much as a greeting, explanation, or itinerary. You stand next to the cold fireplace, still half bowed in greeting.

As the Great Hall stills, empty now except for Kirishima, the redhead sidles closer in the quiet. He watches you excitedly, as you exhale and adjust the travel bag at your hip, eager to present you with the weapon he’s been carrying.

“Mornin’, I think this is from Jeanist?" He chirps and twitters with a smile and precisely no clue what it is he’s handed to you. He’s straightforward and confident and warm.

It’s been a long time since a day so new has been so active. Since dawn, nothing but one heart palpitation after the next. One pair of red eyes to the next. The prince’s red burns your vision like sunspots, Aizawa's turn grapes to wine, but Kirishima’s is patient. You’re slow to remove your gloves before handling the weapon and take it from the champion who vibrates in the new quiet. He is not particularly good at standing still.

Shifting in your hands is a halberd. Its balance is even and it’s not the cherrywood weapon you’re familiar with, the one that’s hopefully still hanging up in its slot in the Keep. This weapon is a deep blood red from shaft to socket. You nod your head without taking your eyes off the shimmer of the metal polished so fine it's turned white, and on any other day there might be tears in your eyes.

Kirishima is still smiling as you fiddle with the rivets, “You have lovely taste, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s not mine,” you whisper, because it’s Master Jeanist’s.

Outside of the castle gates, a particularly dazzling blue carriage is waiting, pulled by a team of white horses. You squint at the three fools wrestling with each other next to a quilted door of the most delicate vehicle you’ve ever seen. Like something out of a storybook, like something built by fairies. The prince tiffs with a less-than-interested Master Aizawa in the grass a ways off and taps his foot angrily just like his mother.

“Are you the Alderan escort?” Shinsou, the spitting image of apathy, appears between you and Kirishima as you trek the stone path to join the party. He hands you each a sizable knapsack.

You nod, “Y/n, apprentice to Captain Jeanist.”

“The one and only?”

“Captain?”

“No, the only apprentice,” Shinsou corrects and smiling eyes betray his disinterest, “I’ve heard stories. It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.”

“Likewise,” you murmur as he leaves you with a bag in both hands, and strides back to the crowd to help load luggage. The champion is long gone and mingling with friends and so you’re alone again, left to fiddle at a distance with your halberd and the leather sling used to carry it on your back.

When you gaze back over the group from afar, it does seem that everyone but you already quite likes one another, and it probably feels that way because it’s true. They know each other somehow and you are the only stranger. A foreigner at the front gates of your home.

Next to the stack of luggage, Sero opens the door for his two friends and you must watch them all curtsy before trying to wrestle each other inside. Shinsou catches the blond when he trips backwards on the single carriage step, Sero is finally wearing pants that fit him, black and pleated, and the prince is now stamping his foot on the ground in conversation with the most unfazed man you’ve ever met. Master Aizawa, you suppose, from Takoba.

Behind you the warm castle whistles with wind and morning activity. Your home. In front of you the pink-haired girl blows kisses to imaginary admirers and Kirishima hoists the prince into the carriage by force. It hasn’t been more than an hour and it is already good, true, and apparent that this caravan will have your full attention or else start a war.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @cherrykamado @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @cherripunch26nch26 @km74744 @arayoflia

could not tag for some reason

[kismetmoon]

I’d do anything for you, Mrs. Highness

[ID: a digital painting of two original stylised Flatland characters, named Atlas and Chief Jr.

Atlas is a stone grey isosceles triangle with a navy tail with a V-shaped end, navy limbs, one eye with a star-shaped pupil, a bushy black eyebrow, chipped top and bottom right corners, and scars on his left side and eye.

Chief Jr. is a light grey and dark purple circle with a crescent moon pattern on his body, dark purple limbs and a tail that ends in a C-shaped tip, a glossy eyelid and long beaded eyelashes. He is wearing a black crown.

Chief is walking in front of Atlas on a dirt path and looking over to the left, as if looking back at Atlas. He is posed mid-stride and both of his hands are held away from his body. His left hand is loosely pointing the index finger at nothing in particular, and his right hand is held out to catch a falling raindrop. Atlas is running towards Chief and holding out a black umbrella to cover him with. He is looking straight at Chief and has a slightly panicked expression.

The background is a dirt path cutting through a lush meadow. The sky is blue, but fades to white closer to the horizon. Some green hills are in the distance. There are some light raindrops falling from a cloud just out of view at the top right of the scene.

End ID].

detail close-ups / small symbolism explanation / silly thing under the cut

[ID: four close-up shots of the above image. The first shows Atlas’s arm. The second shows Chief’s leg and arm. The third shows the umbrella. The fourth shows the grass and shadows. End ID].

Obviously the biggest and most prominent aspect of this is Atlas doing his best to shield Chief from the rain with the single umbrella as quickly as he can, at the expense of being soaked himself. He sees Chief’s comfort as being far more important than his own, so he’ll be the one to provide that comfort to him. He could choose to cover both of them with the umbrella, but he prioritises getting Chief completely covered first (or even just partially covering both of them).

Another thing being their placements; Atlas is farther away, and thus seems smaller than Chief. Something something smaller = less important, despite the fact that Atlas is physically much larger than Chief when stood side-by-side.

The grass near Atlas is yellower than that near Chief. Chief is surrounded by dark green grass. In essence, the grass is in poorer condition near Atlas, while it is healthier near Chief to symbolise the different paths in life they’ve led thus far.

also some potential endings especially for my two pathetic little guys <3 romantic walk through the meadow ruined by natural causes

[ID: two digital monochrome doodles of Atlas and Chief Jr. on grey backgrounds.

In the first image, Atlas is holding onto the umbrella, that has turned inside-out due to strong wind, while being dragged along and scrapping his heels on the ground. His eye is closed and he has a strained expression. Chief is stood in the back with an unimpressed look.

In the second image, they are stood together with Atlas holding the umbrella over Chief. They are both looking at one another and blushing, with Chief’s tail wrapped around Atlas’s. The rain is hitting off the umbrella and Atlas. Under this illustration is a smaller one, showing Atlas and Chief in the same poses but with their tails separated and their umbrella obliterated after being struck by lighting.

End ID].

[keekity]

lovingly titled the "disaster girl" save

[screechingfromthevoid]

I know I'm totes missing something about Vax and his whole deal (I haven't watched the original campaign & I'm like half way through LoVM)

But I thought the implication of Keyleth having a perch for the ravens was that those ravens ARE Vax? I have been thinking this entire time Keyleth hasn't gotten over Vax because he was actively visiting her. But the only way he could get away and see her is to be a raven.

Idk this shit sucks I hope this night lasts forever

[oktoramaa]

caela turn sequence test thing i do NOT KNOW

@creaturefeaster // @chickenstab

[monstersteam]

(3/2 & 3/3) Henhouse

[jjinpang]

[sharkkweak]

Before you start i need you to know that knowing what's up with those two dudes will not make you happy in fact it will make any pre existing woes worse. It's the Mickey's dicksmasher of emotional rollercoaster ships.

The protagonist however!! Yuji is a little sunshine child. Absolute autism creature of an anime boy. He's also got something going on with his classmate but they're not as doomed

Ah so this is essentially Vashwood!! What fun I always wanted to witness another ship so tragic it caused me to lose braincells

[elvhenmage]

the biphobic side of bg3twt when i lock in the shadowheart romance on my astarion origin run:

[awakenthebeing]

OH! OH!! PIEPOE DRESS UP!! OMG OMG!!

Hopefully you're referring to this little outfit I made for her while she held up yummy pie in a previous ask!!

Decided to just make this entire artwork for it since I'll also be using it for other things!!! So here you go, enjoy this piece for the outfit in particular <:3🙏💖‼️

[tiffycatblog]

The lonely endeavor of trying to find a niche fic that you know doesn't exist and that if you want to read it you need to make it yourself

[pyrepostings]

Whumperless Whump Event: Like a record, baby: Struggling to stand

Free Birds And Fiddlers

cw: recent injury, recent near drowning, unreliable narrator, male whumpee female caretaker

~~~

Kevin gasped has he clutched Rynn's arm. She had pulled him to his feet at his request, but as the action flared every nerve in his body more than he expected it to, he was quickly regretting that request.

It was several days since he made his deal with Julian. He would be under guard until he had healed enough for Julian to believe he would be able to survive in the woods alone, or the end of the month- whichever came first. After that, Julian was not to come after him, to send anyone after him, to follow him, or even to cross his path. He was to be released from his vows of loyalty he had sworn all those years ago, though he considered them null with the first armed guard stationed at his door anyway.

In less than a month, he would be free.

For now, he needed to focus on standing on his own two feet.

He was still weak from blood loss and injury. His head was pounding anew against his skull as if that would heal his leg faster. And of course his leg, still feeling like a harpoon shot through it as an anchor point to dangle him over a cliff from.

All that combined with the stiffness that came with barely moving out of bed for the past week, and he could barely move from where he now stood, clutching at the medic in front of him, gasping for air with salt-scraped lungs.

"Hey, it's ok, just breathe alright? You're doing great."

He grit his teeth more from the patronizing tone than the pain. He'd have to bear it if he wanted to get out.

He tried putting his bad leg down, but even before he put weight on it, it screamed in pain. But he said he was going to get to the chair so he would.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage, and took a step forward, more pulling himself than walking.

His hands were shaking, and he felt light headed by the time he was lowered into the chair only a few steps away. He ignored the encouragements, it wasn't going to affect anything. He let her change his bandage, making sure he didn't pop any stitches in the exertion.

All he could think about as he carefully sipped the tea waiting for him was that Julian was never going to let him go in this condition.

Masterlist

@whumperless-whump-event